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There was a duty desk, a mail sorter, and a long bureau with an electric coffeepot and pieces of weaponry, lighting, and com gear wearing yellow toe tags atop it beneath silvery letters reading:
Happy New Year
-Look Alive In 'Fifty-Five
"Where's Sergeant Nelson?"
"Celebrating in Paclucah, sir."
"They're having fireworks," the other added, gaping at Bee. She sniffed the warm, stale air.
Valentine smelled a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee.
"Rollings!" Valentine called over his shoulder. He used the opportunity to scan the little office. There was a sort of wooden loft above with a water tank and boxes of supplies. He had a moment's startle-a shadow above pointed at him with an accusing finger. . . .
It turned out to be a mannequin of a nude female with a feather boa.
"Right here, Major."
Valentine thought quickly. "That's 'Colonel,' son. I'm not your old CO. You keep forgetting."
"Sorry, Colonel."
"You know any of these fellas? Who's in charge?"
"That would be me," a gruff voice came from the doorway to what looked like a residence room. A sergeant with a beer gut partially covering a pistol belt stood in the doorway. "What's the emergency, Colonel?"
"Worse than you know, Sergeant," Valentine said. He reached into his attache and began extracting paperwork and placing it on the duty desk. He took out the gun and pointed it at the NCO.
"I'm sorry to inform you all that you're my prisoners. Rollings, that's a nice looking .45 the sergeant has on his belt. Relive him of it."
Bee stiffened and drew her own shotguns from her waistband. "Watch the door, Bee.
Door," Valentine said.
"Turn your backs, gentlemen, and place your hands on the back of your head, fingers interlaced. Kneel."
Valentine made sure they complied, listening for other sounds of life in the dark warehouse next door. Out in the motor yard, he heard a truck turn over. "Now, if you're cooperative for the next hour or so, you'll be taken prisoner and brought back to a Southern Command base. You'll be surprised how nice the day-release POW camps are. If you give us any trouble, I'll leave you tied here for the Reapers. Decision time."
* * * *
Valentine called the other two in. They gaped at their comrades kneeling with faces to the wall.
"What's with all this?"
That was the kind of quality manpower that pulled duty on New Year's Eve. Only after Valentine prodded the corporal with his barrel did the Quisling realize what was going on.
He made them the same offer he did the others.
They cooperated.
Valentine snipped the telephone wires, hoping that if it activated a trouble alarm, there wouldn't be enough New Year's staff to investigate right away. He and set Rollings to work unscrewing the station's radio from the shelf at the com desk. They did a quick sweep of the building while the Wolves watched both ends of the road, and then started looking through the armory.
The river patrol had good gear, including rocket-propelled grenades that Corporal Glass looked over and selected. Valentine found a case of four Type 3s-that had been the weapon issued to his Razors by Solon, who'd evidently had a bigger budget than the river patrol. The small arms were a little disappointing, mostly cut-down versions of the venerable M16. On the other hand, there was a plentitude of small support machine guns that could be carried or fixed to a boat mount. Most of the weapons were packed in protective lubricant-it would take hours to clean them-so the platoon would have to get back with what they brought.
They ended up filling two truck trailers with boxes of weapons and ammunition and other assorted pieces of lethality, plus as much com gear and medicines as they could find. As Valentine and Patel supervised the loading, the assigned drivers checked the tires and tested the lights and horns on their vehicles.
The men rode in the beds of the camouflaged service trucks with the prisoners secured to floor bolts. They'd even liberated some walkie-talkies so the drivers could communicate with each other. Condensed and dehydrated foodstuffs and extra gear was piled in bags hanging off the back and strapped to the hoods.
